


Transition

by ReadingIsEverything



Category: Original Work
Genre: F to M, F/F, F/M, Female to Male Character, Gen, LGBT Themes, lots of representation, transgender character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14230890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReadingIsEverything/pseuds/ReadingIsEverything
Summary: This is a work about a fictional person, Laurel Jackson, and her journey to her true identity, with the help of some friends, family, and eventually a significant other. Everyone is represented here and I hope there is something for everyone here to enjoy.





	Transition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everyone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyone/gifts).



> Hello, it's me. I was wondering if after all this you you remembered me. Okay, okay, all the Adele references aside, all joking put to rest, I hope you guys can forgive me. Iam going to take a break from my FanFics and just focus on this little project of mine for a while. I was inspired by a very special person in my life. I hope you all enjoy this. This one's for you, sweetheart. Disclaimer: I know almost nothing about transgenderism, if that's even the word. I am a very proud and out lesbian. I just wanted to write something about a group of people that is underrepresented in our modern media. I mean, come on. How many lesbians and gays and even heterosexual do we see in movies, TV, music and books? Okay, now compare that to the number of trans characters we see. Big difference, right? I am not here to be famous. I am here to do my very best to shine a light on amazing people that deserve it. I jus want to make people happy and I hope you can just take the time to read this and share with all you trans and even non trans friends. Okay, without further ado, here we go!

Do you know what it’s like to not fit in somewhere? Most of us do. Most of us know how it feels when we don’t fit in with a certain predetermined group of students at school or something similar. Well, it’s a little different for me. That feeling is something I grapple with every day of my life. I don’t just feel excluded from a group. I don’t fit in with society as a whole. That’s because I’m not exactly sure I’m a girl.

I was born Laurel Jackson. I was my mom’s pride and joy, since she had always wanted to dress up a little girl of her own in frilly little skirts and dresses. She was thrilled at my arrival. My dad, on the other hand, was a little taken aback. He had always wanted a son, so he could name him after his father, Derek. I liked that name too. But he had eventually gotten over it, and they just sort of settled down.

Now, at age 12, going on 13, I didn’t know if I was even female anymore. I had started noticing all this when my sister Grace started trying to get me to wear makeup like the rest of the girls in our class at middle school.  
“Come on, Laurel,” she cajoled, brandishing a fluffy-looking brush in front of me like a weapon. Almost everyone our age was excited to be wearing makeup. It was like a rite of passage or something. But for me, it wasn’t like that. For some reason,I did not want to wear the coveted stuff. 

No, who was I kidding? I knew the reason. It was because, for the past year or so, instead of being excited about the training bra everyone was wearing at school, or staying up and talking about boys, I was wondering what it would feel like to wear a suit and tie to my school dances in place of a dress, or having other reproductive organs, if you get my drift. I was wondering what it would feel like to be a boy instead of a girl.

When I first really started feeling this, you have to keep in mind that I was still in middle school. My family was relatively conservative and I didn’t know at that time that there was a word for me. I had a friend who was a girl into girls, and there was a word for her. I knew that wasn’t me, though, despite how much she thought it might be. I knew this was something different.

When I got my period at age 11, I felt a crippling sense of wrongness, depression, a feeling that this was not me. I felt I was in the wrong body. In time, I realized there was a word for that too.

I was afraid to tell Grace. I was never afraid or shy about telling my 13-year-old sister anything, but this was different somehow. What if she told Mom and Dad? What if she laughed at me? What if she thought it was a game? Probably worst of all, what if she thought I was just joking and didn’t care? What if, what if, what if? It all spun through my head, like a broken record or a kaleidoscope of sound. I wanted to tell Grace more than anything, but I was so afraid to. I didn’t know what would happen.

I lay in bed, feeling the weight of the pad between my legs. My mom thought I was in bed because of bad cramps, and she had let me take the day off from school. Of course, I did not tell her that the blood pouring out of me might as well be acid, for how wrong it felt. I didn’t know what to do.  
I called my best friend, Mindy. Mindy was the lesbian I just mentioned. She would keep my secret, or at least I hoped so. I had never even thought to do something this horrible, but if I had to, I could always expose her relationship to her parents. That was mean, cruel, and unthinkably wrong, I know, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

Mindy picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Laurel,” she said brightly into the line. I flinched a little at the use of my name. It felt… not right. That’s the best way I can put it. It felt kind of like when someone wears their shirt backwards. You can feel the tightness around your throat because the wrong part is around your neck. It was kind of like that. That name was like a backwards, too-tight shirt. It didn’t fit me anymore. I realized with a start that I was no longer Laurel Jackson, the little girl who played with dolls. I was… blank. I didn’t have a boy’s name.  
“Laurel?” Mindy sounded concerned. “Are you okay, sweetie?” Mindy was fourteen, and she had a computer. Maybe she could help. If not, she could at least offer some support. I took a breath, trying to find the right words.

“Min, can we talk at your house?” I asked, my voice sounding a little broken to my own ears. Mindy noticed for sure. She quickly agreed and we met at her house.

“So what’s up, Buttercup?” She teased, her smile warm. I stood silent for a moment as I reached for the words. “I’m not a girl,” I said, my voice choked and scared and frail in the room. Mindy moved over and pulled me into a big bear hug. Her hugs were always warm. “Okay, you’re a boy,” she said, her voice sure and nonjudgmental.   
My heart soared. It wasn’t just me! I wasn’t crazy!!! This was a thing. Mindy proceeded to print out a comprehensive article on my identity—transgender. This was a thing. I was transgender. There was a word for me!!! The wrongness about my body that I felt was called body dysphoria. This was okay.

Mindy held me while I cried my eyes out for about two hours. She stroked my hair and told me I was okay and this was okay. I would be okay.  
“Why don’t you stay with me and Becca tonight?” She asked. Becca was her girlfriend. They were both living together on their own. Mindy’s parents were never home. I nodded, shooting Mindy a grateful smile.

Becca arrived home soon after. She worked at BestBuy as a Geek Squad member. She was nineteen, and she and Mindy were in love. It was obvious from the way the two of them looked at each other. They were meant to be.   
Mindy pulled her partner aside for a few whispered words I could not hear. I was paranoid, thinking it was about me. It turned out, it was, but not at all the way I had thought.

Becca put her hand on my shoulder. “It was hard for me when I transitioned,” she said confidingly. My eyes widened in surprise, shock and a little happiness. Becca was transgender, like me! So did that mean she was a boy, before or what? I sensed it was rude to ask, so I didn’t. Over time, I learned that yes, it is rude to ask. It’s also very upsetting to a trans person to be asked what their old given name was.

We decided on my new name later that night: Aaron Jackson. Short and simple. That was that. I knew the rest of my journey would be hard. I knew things would be rough. But I also knew if I had Mindy and Becca at my side, I would be just fine. I would come out the other side of this. “Good night, Aaron,” Mindy called as she and Becca were moving into their room. I knew they weren’t gonna sleep, courtesy of Becca and the new toy she had bought for them. 

My heart fluttered wildly in my chest at the use of my new name. We had agreed that the two of them would call me Aaron when it was just us. I had not expected it to be so soon, and I had not expected to have this reaction. As I tucked myself under the blankets, I knew that all would be well.


End file.
